


Lyrium-blue

by goldberry-in-the-rushes (thepottermalfoyproblem)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, First Meetings, Noble Hawke, Orzammar Dwarf Varric, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7354492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepottermalfoyproblem/pseuds/goldberry-in-the-rushes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Hawke grew up in Kirkwall? What if Varric was the one who fled before the blight? What would change and what would stay the same?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lyrium-blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeoplePeel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/gifts).



> **Prompt:** Role Reversal AU: Gamlen isn't entirely bad and writes to Leandra; a story wherein the Hawkes come back to Kirkwall years earlier and grow up in Hightown under the Amell family banner and protection.
> 
> AN: 
> 
> I said I felt bad about not following your prompt exactly as it was in the dear author letter, so here I wrote you another thing.
> 
> As usual I own nothing. (Except lovely Bricet, she's taking over the world. Oops.)  
> Hightown Funk 2016 Treat

The first thing Varric noticed about the surface was the sky, bright and unending in the crisp winter air. His parents and brother pulled up their hoods, uncomfortable, but Varric stood transfixed under the blue canopy devoid of encircling stone. He had only ever read about the sky, various authors trying to describe its beauty with precious stones. Sapphire, lapis, azurite - all had been used but all failed to properly describe the color spreading across Varric’s vision. 

No, what the authors should have said was that the sky looked like a never-ending vein of lyrium, bright and dangerous. Varric tucked that thought away for future reference, it seemed like his books could use a bit of updating. Especially if they were to sell here on the surface.

Aside from those first few awed moments, the journey away from Orzammar was unbearably uncomfortable. The Blight rising up from the south made them just another bunch of refugees and finding passage across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall was a challenge none of them had expected. In the end, Varric sighed and made a deal with a band of mercenaries. Better him than his brother, who sniffed and turned up his nose at getting his hands dirty.

 _It really is unfair,_ thought Varric grumpily as he sorted through his meager possessions. _Father and Bartrand get caught fixing provings and we all have to leave. Then I get to pave over their mess by taking on this Maker-forsaken job._ He wasn’t entirely innocent, though he was sneaky enough that no one had been able to pin anything on him. But his mother, completely blameless, had still been uprooted from their family home and that was completely unacceptable. He huffed out an exasperated breath of air, picking up one of his unfinished manuscripts. He’d signed on to the mercenary life for a year once they reached Kirkwall, and delicate paper had no place on the road.

“Varric,” his mother’s voice broke into his reverie. He turned to look at her, manuscript still clutched in his fingers. She smiled at the sight, her youngest son took after her own heart in his love of books and a well-spun tale. “Just think of this as research for your next book.”

“Spoiled noble dwarf joins a merry band of surfacer outcasts and discovers the true meaning of friendship, I’m sure that would sell splendidly.” He meant for the words to be bitter, but they left his mouth with a rueful smile. Ilsa held out her hand, and he set the bundle of paper in her outstretched palm.

“I’ll keep an eye on your manuscripts, dear-heart. Knowing you, you’ll be back home five journals heavier than when you left anyway.” Her eyes twinkled, she knew her son too well. Varric snorted a short laugh and shoved the whole crate in his mother’s direction.

“Right as usual, Mother,” he said. He glanced over to where his father and brother were once again pouring over maps and detailed charts. “Are you sure you’ll be fine without me? Bartrand and Father seem to have some mad scheme going and you know how they get when they’re working…”

“If I didn’t think I could handle your father’s conniving, I wouldn’t have married him and had two lovely sons. Besides,” her eyes flickered in grim amusement. “Who do you think did all of the sneaky work before you got old enough, hmm?”

Maybe his mother wasn’t quite as innocent as he had first assumed. Varric let the matter be with a thoughtful hum of agreement.

——

Two days later the tall and imposing Twins rose from the evening mists, looming over the Ferelden ship as it glided into the bustling harbor. They reminded Varric of the Paragons lining the Hall of Heroes in Orzammar. Other passengers on the ship recoiled from the bronze effigies, but Varric felt somehow as if he was coming home.

“Even when everything changes, some things stay the same,” murmured his mother from behind him, and he glanced over to find that she too stood gazing in awe at the entrance to the harbor. She came to stand beside him, settling her warm broad hand on his shoulder. “You’re leaving at the docks aren’t you?”

Varric nodded, gazing out across the harbor. “I’m meeting Bricet’s lieutenant at a tavern in Lowtown.” Bricet herself, a stocky surface dwarf with a no-nonsense attitude, had been the one to offer Varric employment in her little band.

“A year of service in return for passage, and I’ll pay you wages besides,” she had said, appreciatively eyeing the way Varric carried his crossbow slung across his back. “Just meet my second-in-command at the Hanged Man once we land, since I’ll be too busy dealing with the rabble.”

Varric had frowned and asked for a name or at least a way to recognize Bricet’s lieutenant, but the dwarf had just laughed. “You can’t miss her, you’ll know when you’ve found her.”

Not that that was cryptic or anything.

Varric felt a hand squeeze on his shoulder and returned to the present, reaching up to pat his mother’s hand. “I’ll be back before you know it, Mum.”

“Try not to get into too much mischief” said Ilsa, handing Varric his pack from where it rested by their feet.

“Mischief? Me?” Varric laughed. “You must have me mistaken for some other dwarf.”

Ilsa shook her head fondly at her son and pushed him gently towards the lowering gangplank. “Go on then, or you’ll be late.”

Varric ducked down to give his mother a swift kiss on her cheek and then strolled down to the docks, humming under his breath.

——

The Hanged Man was absurdly simple to find. Just follow the roads to the market and look for the giant sign of the upside-down man.

 _Creepy,_ thought Varric as he pushed his way through the front door into the bustling hubbub of the common room. Not unlike Tapster’s back home, all types lounged about the area. A couple Rivaini sailors leaned at the bar, rolling their eyes at the increasingly terrible poetry spouted by a completely soused human. In another corner a willowy elf and a dwarf more tattoo than skin sat grinning across from one another, arms linked in a wrestling match while their friends cheered them on and plied them with ale. No one jumped out at Varric as being his contact, though, so he settled in at the bar.

He did not have to wait long.

The front door crashed open and in walked a human, all swagger and grin, looking like she owned the place. A huge staff lay strapped across her back, and Varric would have sworn it was a mage’s staff but for the vicious-looking two-foot blade taking up one end. Red brushed over the bridge of her nose and black hair lay tousled from the eternal breeze blowing off the harbor. She strode right up to the bar and grinned at the still-stoic barkeep.

“There’s a round on me tonight, Corff!” she cried, loud enough that Varric’s ears rang.

A cheer went up from the surrounding crowd, and cries of “Hawke!” echoed across the space. However, the unfortunate poetic drunkard on the end of the bar raised his glass in the woman’s direction, hiccuping “t’ the Lady Amell” and sloshing his ale across the counter.

You could have heard a copper drop in the sudden horrified silence. Hawke, for this was certainly Hawke and probably also Varric’s mysterious contact, leaned back against the bar, flipping a knife between her fingers and picking at her nails.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see my mother, grandmother, or sister in here, so I believe you must be hallucinating, serrah.” She raised an eyebrow at the man, who, had he been less drunk, probably would have stopped while he was ahead.

Alas, he was just drunk enough to get himself in trouble. He took a long guzzle of his ale, ignoring the heavy silence around him, and slammed the mug back down on the counter before he turned to Hawke.

“You’re too much like yer father, kid, and one of these days you’ll see the inside of the Gallows.” He stood to leave, and the room parted before him. Not because they agreed with him, noted Varric, but because they saw Hawke glance back at Corff, who nodded grimly.

The man barely made it two steps across the stained and pitted wooden floor before Hawke spun him around, gripping the front of his collar in her fist and dragging him to her eye level.

“I know you hate my father, Finnis. I know your Andraste-forsaken ex-templar ass would love to see him and all his children locked away from the light of day. But there is a reason he is still free and you would do well to remember that. And as for me? You’d better leave before Bricet finds out you’ve been coming around again.” Hawke dragged the man to the door and pushed him out into the night, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him. She walked back to the counter, dusting off her hands and making a disgusted face. Corff slid a mug in her direction and she took it with a rueful smile.

“Sorry you had to see that little display,” she said, and it took Varric a moment to realize she was addressing him. “Normally I’d laugh off my title, but Finnis is dangerous when drunk.” She took a sip of her ale. “Gets a little too brave and thinks he can take on all of Kirkwall. Asshole.”

“I see,” drawled Varric, cradling his own mug. He would drink it but the contents looked… dubious at best. “So what’s a noble doing mingling with all the Lowtown rabble? I got the impression on the boat over that wasn’t a thing that is done.”

Hawke tossed her head back, laughing, “I could ask you the same thing, Varric of House Tethras, sometime author and dashing rogue.” When Varric gaped at her, she flipped a piece of parchment between her fingers. “Messenger pigeon… though, with the decline of the Ferelden pigeon population I’m surprised Bricet found one.”

Varric would have been lying to himself if he hadn’t admitted some form of attraction to Hawke the minute she slammed through the door to the Hanged Man, but in the next second he was well and truly hooked. Hawke looked down at him, eyes twinkling in the lantern-light and as brilliant lyrium-blue as his first glimpse of the surface sky.

Something must have shown on his face because Hawke frowned. “You alright? I didn’t misstep did I? I tend to do that, talk too much and next thing you know I’ve said something I shouldn’t have…”

Varric waved a hand in the air and decided to bury his quickly reddening face into his sub-par ale. “No, you’re fine. Just caught off guard is all. Not many on the surface know my works.”

“Well, all of us in Bricet’s band are fond of a good tale. If you can spin a story out of nothing, you’ll never want for company at the fireside.” She leaned close to Varric and he caught the scent of leather and lyrium, familiar to his already fading stone-sense. “Besides, we’re running out of stories that don’t involve our own escapades as a band of ne’er-do-wells and that gets boring fast.”

Varric knew an opportunity when it presented itself. “Well, if we have time, I can tell you about the time I tried to start a nug-racing guild.”

The delighted grin on Hawke’s face and the way she propped herself against the counter was all the prompting Varric needed.

“Well you see, most people think nugs are only good for two things…” he launched into the tale, hoping that it would calm his traitor heart.

Hawke’s lyrium-blue eyes never stopped watching, and if he could have heard her heartbeat, it was just as fast as his.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> (I make no promises, but I think I want to explore this AU a little more in the future. *whistles innocently*)


End file.
